Beached Again

My Strange Bruise turns out to be a symptom: blood flowing to my ankle from a torn calf muscle. At least 4 more weeks without running. Very depressing. No Santa Barbara Wine Country Half-Marathon and a reduced chance to break 4 hours in Chicago. On the upside, I can walk, drive, and exercise either in the pool or on sundry machines. In other words, perhaps a month down, then another month getting back up to speed.

And if I don't break 4, I can at least set a new pr.
I know I'll come back stronger.

New Interesting Running Injury

No running all week. My calf and ankle swelled something fierce post-10K. Bruises blossomed around my left foot, but the only soreness was under the calf. (The muscle has a long name - gastrocniemus or some such title.)

Each day brings steady improvement. But the half-marathon looms next Sunday. As it stands, even should my foot heal, I'll have run only twice in three weeks. My goals diminish.

I've been mostly aqua running. Today I did 80 stupifying minutes. (The physical equivalent of reading the tax code.) Whether pool work will sustain me is less an issue than whether I heal enough to reach the start line.

Since I began training in March, there's been much progress in my speed. And next Sunday's race was only a mile post on the road to Chicago. Still, not attaining a sought-after goal would leave me a bit down.

But life rolls on. My wife and I bought a 2002 P.T. Cruiser. The Mrs. shall drive this in lieu of her 13-year-old Saturn. (A real workhorse of a car.) I must say, Cruiser and Mrs. seem a good match. Each exhibits personality to spare.

Murder in Pasadena

Yesterday, a body was discovered near the Rose Bowl. The deceased male lay atop a hill off Rosemont Avenue. The hill is part of a trail popular with runners. I've been up and down it many times with Team in Training.

To the west of the trail, seperated by a chain link fence, lies Brookside Country Club. Apparantly some golfers observed the body through the fence at around 7:00 AM. They called out to passing runners, asking if any of them had cell phones and could notify police. (Did the idea of not golfing and reporting the crime occur to them? One can only speculate. As I said, they were golfers.)

In any case, two walkers from Team in Training arrived shortly after, saw the body, and notified coaches Kate and Mel. Meanwhile, police arrived and sealed off the area, closing the trail. Runners and walkers were rerouted throughout the morning. Around 10:45 AM, I came down Rosemont Avenue on my way to World T'ai Chi Day. Cops, crime scene tape, badly-parked police vehicles, and Allison from Team in Training spilled off the trail. (I didn't ask Allison "whaz s'up?" 'cause there was traffic behind me.)

Later, I heard coach Kate had spoken with one of the detectives. He told her nightly drug deals take place around the Rose Bowl. That's what the murder appeared to stem from. Violence is the Court of Last Appeal — and often First Appeal — in the narcotics trade.

No idea if the killer has been caught or even identified.

Fun in the CSUN

Ran a 10K today at Cal State University Northridge. After injuring my calf running last Monday (locked up tight), I spent the week either in the pool or doing yoga to loosen up the muscle. And while it's still not 100 %, I felt strong enough to give 6.2 miles a go.

Except I didn't want to run.

I didn't want to get up, or drive to Northridge, or run once I got there. Horn sounds and the race starts. Off I go anyway. I wanted to quit at the second mile. Then I wanted to walk for long periods. Then I wanted to quit at mile 5. Yes, it was sunny and hot and the course teemed with race-etiquette challenged "Kids Run L.A." But I've been there/done that before and bounded along like a young deer. Today was different. A most unusal attack of the "quits."

Maybe 10Ks remind me too much of tempo workouts — hard, long mid-week runs at a faster-than-usual pace. They build endurance. And grumpiness.

Despite all that, I set a 10K pr of 52.56. That comes out to an 8:32 pace.

Afterwards, I drove to Brookside Park near the Rose Bowl for World Tai Chi Day. This is a yearly gathering of L.A. County T'ai Chi players and Chinese yoga practioners. Marjorie was there. We hugged good-bye again. She drives to Texas this Friday. I hung out with old chums Loren, Ed, Iren, Dave and Dede from my T'ai Chi class. Then I bought a tee-shirt and left.

Acres of writing, but it'll keep.

I don't want to do that either.

TNT, Car Buying, Paris

Bumped into Raul, Audrey and other TNT alum running the hills this morning. Ernesto and I met earlier than usual as my wife and I were due to car-shop.

We're looking at the Toyota Matrix and the Honda Civic. We checked out a fleet dealer, a used car dealer and Carmax. Very low pressure. Only the used car guy suggested we "talk with his manager." We declined citing multiple other car-buying commitments. I'm leaning toward a slightly used Civic: well-engineered and "tall-guy" friendly. But the car is for my short wife, so I may have to get used to something else.

Two folks I know ran the Paris Marathon today. You sprint past famous monuments, stop to have a smoke, race around Moslem "youths" burning cars, then pause on the banks of the Seine to read depressing literature. If you don't kill yourself, you pass a wine station, grab a paper cup of chablis, then cross the finish line where you either receive a medal or a beret full of snails.

In any case, I'll be interested in hearing their stories.

Marjorie Jackson Adieu

Monday nights are busy. I have several long-standing commitments that absorb the evening. Nevertheless, yesterday I made time to drive to a small park in Burbank and bid farewell to my T'ai Chi teacher.

I've known Marjorie for almost ten years. First intermittently, then steadily I attended her classes in T'ai Chi and yoga. Marjorie taught in parks from the San Gabriel Valley to Northridge. She flew from one gig to another. The rear compartment of her little blue Toyota SUV was crammed with registers and sign-up sheets, flyers for martial arts events, T'ai Chi swords and knives plus a CD player that gave every class a New Age underscore: Inca flutes, harps or Tibetean bowls with a crashing surf background.

For awhile, I was underemployed and immersed myself in T'ai Chi and yoga. On Thursdays in 2001 and 2002, I took Marjorie's morning yoga class at Victory Park in Pasadena. Afterwards, I'd student teach her T'ai Chi beginners, then attend the advanced class that followed. As a reward for helping out, Marjorie would show me next-level moves and correct my form. By the time I left around noon, I was floating on endorphins. Calm. Almost too calm. I never got much of anything done on Thursdays.

Chakras, auras, and past lives were a part of Marjorie's beliefs. She would laugh and call it "wo-wo" stuff. And if you were so inclinded, Majorie would teach "wo-wo" (as well as yoga) out of her rented home. Four years ago Marjorie and her beau bought a small house in Pasadena. Wind chimes and Buddhist prayer flags decorated the front porch while incense flotated through the house like spirits. A student painted a cloudy, blue sky on her ceiling so that while doing yoga, you could look up and see something other than ceiling.

That house is in escrow, the cloudy ceiling painted over. And by the end of the month, Marjorie and her beau will be in Texas. After 31 years in Southern California, Marjorie will teach T'ai Chi and yoga as well as quality "wo-wo" to the residents of Austin.

I didn't ask why she was leaving. I guess that's because I always sensed she would. Marjorie says we each have our destinies. Mine now lies in marathons and hers in Austin. But for a time, we walked the same path.

A teacher is someone who shows you a door that only you can open. And for showing me the T'ai Chi door, I want to thank Marjorie and wish her a safe journey, a rewarding life, and, in time, a destiny fulfilled.

Happy Easter!

Away to visit my darling wife's family somewhere in Central California. We'll be having Easter dinner by the sea. Back soon!

Damp

A misty moist morning with a temperature around 58 degrees. Rather perfect weather for running 10 miles. Ernesto added a new injury this week: a stiff back from weight lifting. Nevertheless, he put in eight miles.

I ran for a bit with a 59-year-old-guy who did the Chicago Marathon last year. He'd qualified for Boston, which meant a time of at least 3 hours and 45 minutes. Certain sports have their Meccas, that place where the amateur athelete can strive to reach and where, having arrived, are entitled to feel special, even smug, (but not too smug or someone will slap them). For distance runners, Boston is such a destination. You must complete a qualifying marathon just to get in. I hope to reach there within the next two years.

Perhaps there is also a Mecca for curling. Why shouldn't there be? Let a curler's reach exceed his grasp, broom and all.

Spring Fall

In honor of last year's big fat injury, I took my spring tumble on Monday. Melissa and I were running a good pace on trails when I hit a rock. This time my palms absorbed most of the impact. A bit bloody, I walked for awhile then we finished the run.

Turned out to be our fastest time yet.

Come Saturday a year will have passed since my broken foot. I was so bummed to miss the San Diego Marathon. That's why Phoenix still resonates. Down, but up again. Somewhat in keeping with the season.




A blessed Good Friday to those awaiting Easter.

Eight Miles and No Writing Gas

Met Ernesto at the Rose Bowl. His hamstring continues to heal slowly while my half-marathon rapidly approaches. So we ran different paces and distances and met back at the start line. During my run I encountered Faith and Sarah, former Fall '05 teammates with Ernesto and I.

The hills swarm with TNT alumni.

And now more writing. The script I'm working on is due Sunday, postphoned from Friday when I ran out of gas. Knowing my draft will be picked apart by fussy executives saps all initiative. I look for ways to avoid writing. Hence, this post.

However this morning I was bummed about my running and felt weak and slow. I psyched myself up mentally, then went out and performed well.

I may have to do something similar to get up for this script. Perhaps a cheer?



Space bar, space bar,
Fast and funny,
Finish this script,
And pocket the money.

Don't you care,
What they think.
They're executives,
Silly with drink.

Pre-Phoenix Marathon Photo 2007

Campaign manager Melissa of the Winter Team just posted this photo from Phoenix. It is probably around 5:30 AM. We're gathered in the lobby of our hotel, waiting to be bussed to the marathon start line. We already know it's stinking cold out. We don't yet know it's 29 degrees and that we'll be milling around outdoors for over an hour waiting to run.

I love the lights and reflective glow stuff. It's like we're at a convention for Radioactive Runners.

Deadline Fatigue

Mentally sapped. Since Sunday I've written 36 pages on two animated scripts and a short story. Prose fiction averages about an hour a page. Animated stuff I can usually do much faster. In any case, I haven't been sleeping well and that's affected my running. Tried to do a five-mile tempo run yesterday and simply gave up after mile three. I went home, ate dinner, wished my wife well as she sped out to her writers' group, and crashed early, drool rolling down my chin like a great torrent.

My training schedule for the half-marathon unravels more each week. But I'll press on and adjust as necessary. My goal is Chicago in October and I still have time.

And a tidy income once all my invoices are paid.

Then more sleep.

Meeting Mr. Sulu

This morning, Nick and Ernesto joined me for a race in Griffith Park. (In 1995, I did a 5K there. That turned out to be my last 5K for eleven years.) Small field, very informal. I finished in 25:18. That's an 8:09 pace. Not what I wanted but slightly better than my 1995 time. And I smoked back then. I wonder how my running career might've gone if I'd eased off the Kents sooner.

Today George Takei was Master of Ceremonies. A nice guy, he sat at a table and signed autographs for free. (Many celebs charge.) Naturally we lined up. Nick just turned 30. He had never seen Star Trek and that included the original series as well as the movies. He knew George Takei from the Howard Stern Show. Ernesto knew about George and Star Trek but dug him on Howard Stern. I overheard a teacher say her students only knew George as Kaito Nakamura on Heroes.

Well, he'll always be Mr. Sulu to me. I asked him to please sign my picture: "Live Long and Perspire." He laughed and did so, asking me about running. George finished up and I thanked him. As I left he told me to "live long and perspire."

God willing, I shall, and the same to you, Mr. Sulu.

Thoughts on 300

My wife and I just returned from seeing 300. Based on a graphic novel, the movie featured enough stabbing and beheading to make Braveheart look like Remains of the Day. A handful of six-pack-abbed Spartans stands against the hordes of a giant, fruity Xerxes. The historical Xerxes was something of a logistical wiz. He moved a massive army from Asia to Greece across a boat bridge and pre-positioned supplies in their path. Subsequent armies well into the 20th century floundered on the march far worse than the Persian troops. What's more, Xerxes practiced early disinformation by bribing the Oracle at Delphi to put a negative spin on Greek war prophecies.

A few years back, author Steven Pressfield covered the same material in his book, Gates of Fire. The story of Leonidas and his Spartans was told through the character of a Spartan servant, found gravely wounded at Thermopylae, who relates the tale to his Persian captors. Gates covers the culture and politics of Sparta as well as other city states, divided on whether to resist Xerxes. Pressfield's descriptions of the Greek phalanx, or shield wall, are particularly riviting. (Essentially a big shoving match with spears.)

A few large historical liberties, but overall 300 was a fun film.

Did I mention lots of stabbing, rending, and slashing?

Erin Go Bragh

And a Happy St. Patrick's Day! God bless all, especially my dear Irish family, living and dead.

Truncated running with Ernesto today. His hamstring ached from playing basketball and he bailed at the mile mark. I only ran three today because my calves hurt from overtraining. I juggled running days around this week because of work and ended up piling on mileage as well as speed. A proven road to injury. No one sets a personal best who doesn't first reach the start line.

Work continues intensely. Scripts and development. One show I'm writing is rather difficult. My scripts draw lengthy executive notes implying I can't write. Solving creative problems becomes a true test of patience and a clear sign that I need money. But I'm almost done.

And better projects await.

A parting St. Paddy's day joke:

Q: What is Irish alzheimers?

A: That's where you forget everything but the resentments.

Red Hot Running

Met Ernesto yesterday for a six-mile run. We spent the first mile dodging triathalon bikers as they sprinted around the Rose Bowl.

We passed friendly TNT faces as the Summer Team notched their first ten-mile run. There was a "double digit" barbecue afterwards and we exercised alumni priviledges by scarfing their chow.

Went out this morning for an eight-mile clip and passed Melissa and Naveena breezing along on their own long run. Hot, dry weather dehydrated me by mile 3. As in Hawaii, my brain screamed "quit," even though I wasn't running particularly fast or far.

I did what any self-respecting runner would do: I lied to my own brain. I said water aplenty waited at the finish. The brain bought it and I ran my scheduled pace the rest of the way. Just to show I'm a nice guy, I delivered and slugged down a 16-ounce Aquafina.

Another 14 pages of animation the last few days. They say strike while the iron is hot. But this stinking iron is volcanic!

Fine Whine

Still underwater with all the writing. Fatigued now. I'll stop and lie down for a few hours than back at it. I just turned in another short script (20 pages) and am waiting for the next assignment.

The L.A. Marathon was Sunday. Congrats to the Spring TNTers, especially Raul who broke 4 hours.

On Monday I commence training for my own sub four-hour marathon in Chicago this fall. Phase One will last 9 weeks and end with pring a half-marathon. To that end, Coach Katie has proscribed track workouts. Coach Melissa has taught me plyometrics to improve speed and ladders to increase foot turn-over and quickness. In addition, she's been running with me on Mondays as I add another running day to my week. After resting up, Phase Two will begin in June. I'm not sure what it'll be. But I bet there's lots of running.


And now back to what I do best.

51 and Counting

In eight days I've written 51 pages of animated television. One half-hour and one short for different shows. I still have a five-page outline due by Wednesday morning.

I'm a bit tired.

But fat with invoices.

Guest and Shyamalan Reviewed

Back in the 90s when the Oscars aired on week nights, Warner Bros. would let us go home early to watch. Now they're on Sunday nights and I'm already home. Nevertheless, I think I'll pass. I haven't seen any of this year's big films. Other than "Casino Royale," I haven't been to the movies in months.

That said, you can tell when I have a ton of actual writing to do. I seek ways to avoid it. I shall now demonstrate by reviewing two movies my wife and I rented this weekend.


"For Your Consideration" was Christopher Guest's spoof of award-mania. Departing from the mockumentary style of "Guffman" and "Mighty Wind," this movie employed a conventional narrative. The film portrays hapless actors in an independent film called "Home For Purim" who believe they will be nominated for Academy Awards. Dramatic tension is thin at best. The characters are self-absorbed and shallow. Then they get nominated. Then they are self-absorbed and shallow.

That said, there are laughs o'plenty. The dialogue is improvised and carries a wonderful sense of expectation and surprise. A Guest film that doesn't rock on all levels still has enough fun, quirky mometns to make it worthwhile.

We also watched M. Night Shyamalan's "Lady in the Water." The film presents us with a fantasy world intruding on a Philadelphia apartment building. The building super (Paul Giamatta) discovers a water nymph living in the pool. He elects to help the nymph achieve her mission and return home. To do this he must outwit a fierce creature determined to slay her. A man broken by his past, the super engages other tenants to help. In so doing he begins to rediscover himself. I liked the personal redemption aspect but found the fantasy overwhelming. There were so many story points. In order to service them all, the tenants must buy outright the super's tale of a nymph, her wolf-like enemy, and their own pre-destined roles. Despite Giamatta's fine acting, the film wears down, becoming a logic puzzle that keeps the viewer at arm's length.

And that's that. Now back to real work.

Purple and White Blues

Ran eight miles yesterday. My long run pace feels too fast. My run/walk ratio is too low. I ran slower than my final eight-mile run before Phoenix. But I have months to increase pace.

But will I have the motivation?

I hadn't realized how much Team in Training changed me. Other than a vague goal of running a marathon "one day" I never had any destinations. Now I've set prs in the 10K, half-marathon, and marathon. I want to break four hours in Chicago, then qualify for Boston. I'm a man fat with goals.

But it's harder on your own.

Heading toward the last mile I topped a small hill and found myself engulfed by Team in Training. Both Spring and Summer teams had started their runs at the same time. They filled the street and for a few seconds I was surrounded by purple and white jerseys. I spotted familiar faces, but with the sun to my back only a few recognized me. Then they were gone. As I reached the final mile marker, I was running solo again.

At the finish line, I bumped into former team mates Ryan, Jay and Michelle. They're back with TNT, training for the Wildflower Triathalon in May. We chatted, but they had planned a 20-mile bike ride and needed to wheel.

I stretched out, then walked to my car, forgetting my brand new water bottle with the neat padded, hand strap and a compartment for key and cell phone. A wino may have it now.

Gains and losses.

Dale and Cancer

In early January, my friend Dale was diagnosed with Stage 4 colon cancer. Stage 4 means you're on the adios track. I saw him in the hospital just before I left for Phoenix. Dale was in shock. (Or as much shock as possible while basted with morphine and Dilautin.) Suddenly all the mad scrambling for money seemed pointless. He only wanted more time with his wife and kids.

And he got it.

The doctors operated twice and removed a huge tumor from his colon. No chemo necessary. Off you go. But Dale did get a colostomy bag for the next seven months. (He told me you have to spray the inside with Pam so that poop doesn't clot the opening. There are other elements involved that don't need mentioning.)

All things considered, he thought the colostomy a fair trade. Cancer had picked up his life and tossed it off a bridge. As he reassembled the pieces, Dale found himself reordering everything: priorities, diet, attitude.

I pray his cancer doesn't return. (My cousin Mary Ann faces her third go-around with liver cancer in four years.)

But often there is hidden good in the most turbulent events.

4K Unique Visits

4,000 hits!

A wee amount in the grand world of the Web, but they're all mine!

Bwahahhahaha!

Alumni Hill

I've been visiting a site called Cool Running. They have a log that lets you keep track of your runs and cross training. There are also forums where runners share race reports and ask training questions. Most participants seem decent enough but you can always count on at least one curmudgeon. ("So your IT band popped at Mile 16. People without legs never run at all. BTW, your training sucked!")

Ran six miles this morning and bumped into Chad. We stopped on a big hill and caught up. Chad was my mentor for Spring 2006. He dropped out of Spring 2007, briefly joined the Pasadena Pacers, but left to practice solo on the trails he knows best. And if you run north or south of the Rose Bowl on Saturday morning you're never really solo. There are other alumni (like me) plus two seperate teams zipping all over the place. In fact, the key is to get up and down the hills before Team in Training clogs them up. Chad's tapering for the LA Marathon. I'm thinking of going just to cheer people on. I'll know a ton of folk. Writing continues to be hectic, with contract disputes and sudden deadlines. Plus real money starting to trickle in! How very chic.

Writing and Pacific Shoreline Half Marathon

Gobs o' writing this last week: development, paid scripts, book outline. I'm juggling several projects and about to add one more next week. Can't complain and won't.

Pac Shoreline Half Marathon was a festive family/TNT event. I ran a modest 2:15. My northern cousins-in-law dropped in, with Janet completing her first half.

Former SGV Coach Amber cheered us on at Mile 11.

Katie McCollum ran the exact same time she ran last year. A new pr was in her grasp, but she stopped to assist Kate Martini who had run out of gas and stood exhausted 20 feet from the finish line. Katie got her walking, urged her in, then learned that Kate officially finished two seconds ahead, thus pring while Katie only "reaffirmed" her old record.

And the Bears played a marvelous first quarter.

Man, It's Early.

3:30 AM. I'm leaving for Pacific Shoreline Half-Marathon. This race is turning into quite the event.

1. Coaches Katie and Kate will be running for prs.

2. It's the half-marathon event for Spring Team SGV, which means a big TNT turnout.

3. Former Coach Amber lives down there and should be stopping around to say 'hi.'

4. Bay area relatives of my wife are running their first half-marathon.

5. This will be my longest run since Phoenix.

Pacific Shoreline also marks the anniversary of my first 2006 injury. Also, last year was a huge fiasco in turns of parking, hence my early start.

BTW, Go Bears!

This What

Went to a party in San Gabriel last night for TNT alum Nick. Coaches Jimmy and Kate were there along with other TNT alums Ernesto, Tiffany and PJ (Nick's wife). Huge party, spilling out into the backyard where there was a dj, taco chef, bar, and hard-drinking folks. Even the rain didn't slow things down. This was Nick's 30th birthday and I thought he celebrated well.

Coach Kate has committed to monster goals this year. In addition to her full-time job, she is bossing TNT SGV Summer Team and has hired her own coach to prepare her for an Iron Man Triathalon in August. That's something like a 2 mile open water swim, followed by 144 mile bike ride, and topped off by a marathon. ( I'm still recovering from just the marathon.) But Kate is very focused and a hard-charger. I believe she'll be successful.

By the same token, Kate believes I'll be successful in breaking 4 hours the next time I try. This led me today to plan a few races for '07. I signed up for the Disneyland Half Marathon in September because they give out a big silly medal.

And in October, the Chicago Marathon.

This is the 30th anniversary and will bring my running full-circle. Back in 1977, the year of Nick's birth, I signed up to run the very first Chicago marathon. I got a tee-shirt and race number in the mail. (They don't mail them anymore. Most races want you to attend a race expo where they'll sell you everything from water bottles to special "quick mist" that you spray on your shoes to make you go faster. ) In any case, I trained a little and drank a lot and never made it to the start line. But I vowed to run the marathon in 1978.

Naw.

In 1979 I moved to California. And so my marathon vowing continued throughout the years until 2005 when I run Honolulu with TNT.

Now I want to drive a nail through Chicago and break 4 hours there.

I'm thinking of skipping the Palos Verdes Marathon and just taking it easy until May. Then I'll start training in earnest for Chicago.

Lots 'o writing work. Still developing that manta ray show. Plus there's a new animated series that needs scripts. It's about five pieces of sushi that come to life and fight crime.

I can't say 'no' to that.

Now What?

Bummed. Ran a little yesterday and felt old and slow. Post-marathon recovery is a cruel tease. Just when you most crave running endorphins, your body is too trashed to allow a safe harvest.

For the moment, my new goal is to run the Palos Verdes Marathon in May. A small marathonlet with few hundred runners, PVM follows a hilly course down at the end of the Harbor Freeway near Point Fermin.

I could train leisurely without thought of personal records.

After that, I'll get serious.

My next goal is to break four hours.

On the writing side, plenty of development work, including a fun animated project that I thought had died last fall. It's about a manta ray who decides to help humanity whether they need it or not.

Plus it pays!

My wife will be so pleased.

TNT Winter '07 Recap

Final practice today for Team in Training, San Gabriel Valley, Greater Los Angeles, 2006/07. A handful of Phoenix veterans including Cesar, Dan Fastrup, Megan, Shannon and Tom modeled marathon and half-marathon medals for the Spring Team. Spring was about to embark on a chilly, eighteen-mile training run. We, on the other hand, took a leisurely "victory" walk around the Rose Bowl with coaches Katie, Kate and Mel.



I thought of my marathon and how I breezed through the first 15 miles. Then I fought sundry pains for the next five. Coach Kate met me at mile 20. We ran in from there, dropping walk breaks because they were too uncomfortable. We finished hard, passing most runners in the last 1.2 miles. I wobbled across the timing mat, woozy because all spare blood had drained to my legs. Kate held me up. I had knocked one hour and 40 minutes off my previous marathon time.

Sure, I'd run a strong marathon, but I was ready. I had trained hard since my cast came off in May. At first I aqua ran and worked out in the gym. In July I could run again, though not very well. Throughout the late summer and fall, I built myself up, adding hills and track and weekly tempo runs. I lifted weights and my injured leg was stronger than ever. The coaches gave me extra homework like "ladders" and interval runs. In the last week, I added mental workouts, visualizing myself overcoming obstacles during the race. Plus I had the benefit of having completed a marathon.

Furthermore I was unemployed, thus fat with time to train.

Still, my teammates' marathons were more inspiring.

They didn't have my preparation. The majority were tackling an endurance event for the first time. Many of them carried nagging injuries and all the doubt and uncertainty that brings. Megan, for example, had been hurt all season and hadn't run beyond 16 miles. The day before the marathon she was thinking of quitting after half. But on race day Megan pushed herself and commited to 26.2 miles. Dan and Mary, also dogged by injuries, ran with her. They brought each other through.

Then there was Dan Fastrup, marathon veteran, who'd just lost his wife to lymphoma in November. He gave up his own marathon time to stay with two teammates and see them safely across the finish line.

The same thing happened in Hawaii, where speedy Ryan Lim held himself back and ran/walked injured teammate Matt to the completion of his first marathon.



In the end, we all finished what we started.

A lot of heart, this Winter Team.

Frigid Start for Phoenix Marathon

Big darn anchor.

Predawn in downtown Phoenix; twenty-nine degrees. The marathon began from Wesley Bolin Plaza. In the plaza's center rested the anchor from the battleship Arizona. Runners huddled near this cold metal object, shivering in their trash bags.

I wasn't one.

I was shivering over by the UPS gear-check trucks. They would haul everyone's stuff to the finish line near Tempe's Sun Devil Stadium. Along with TNTers Cesar and Angie, we killed time talking about how stinking cold it was.

The previous afternoon, Coach Katie had presented me with two pace charts. One was for 4 hours and 30 minutes on the nose. The other was a bit more ambitious: 4 hours and 24 minutes. I was shooting for the latter time.

As the sun rose, seven thousand runners reluctantly said 'good-bye' to their warm clothes and lined up for the race. The mayor of Phoenix delivered a cheery message that came out garbled over the loudspeakers. I don't know what he said. He could've still been drunk from a fundraiser and admitted to shooting his wife. But everyone cheered anyway. It warmed the lungs.

A few women sang our national anthem a capella and off we ran. I was excited. I'd been waiting 13 months for this marathon and still couldn't believe it had just started. Rather than marvel over the obvious, I urged myself to take the first mile slow.

The day would soon warm up.

I hoped.










(Photo by Meghan Kroneman)

Nailed the Phoenix Marathon

Beyond expectations. A morose freezing start; a long chilly run; some welcome help at mile 20; and the last 6.2 miles at a hard, blood-draining pace. All that and more made this a marathon to remember.

I shattered my goal of four and a half hours to wobble across the finish line in 4 hours, 21 minutes and 45 seconds.

Thank you Jeff, K, and everyone else for your support and encouragement.

I'm still visiting family and friends in Phoenix as well as nursing sore hip flexors.

Many great stories to tell.

I'll get posting tomorrow evening.

. . . Gone! Phoenix Marathon a Wrap

Another Ribbon

Dale came out to California to be a rock star. He never got famous but he did get work. Dale played guitar in different bands and made a nice living as a promoter. He would book musicians such as the last living member of Canned Heat or Ike Turner for venues down in Long Beach. I've known him 13 years and he only has two speeds: fast and extremely fast.


I just got back from the hospital. Dale had a tumor removed from his colon this week. The pathology report stated that some of the tumor jumped to a nearby lymph node. He's diagnosed as Stage 4 - not good. However the doctors feel the cancer is isolated enough to respond to treatment. Dale faces six months of chemo.

When he's back home, I'll let Dale know about the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. He already knows I run for "some cancer thing." Now he'll find out how the money I raise with Team in Training helps support victims and their families. I'll also be adding Dale's name to a ribbon I'm wearing this Sunday. He'll be in good company next to Melanie Fastrup.

And I'll be running more than a marathon. I'll be running in honor of one survivor who lost her fight with cancer and in support of another survivor who is just beginning.

Ready for Phoenix Marathon Plus TV Animation Work

Ready . . . set . . . . Ran my last training miles today: an EZ four. Very difficult to go slow, but I tried keeping my pace down to match the first 10 to 13 miles of the marathon.

Work has chosen this moment to pick up. (Any time work picks up is a good time.) I have a meeting next Friday that should bring in a little development money. And if the idea I develop gets bought, then I'll have a fine show to work on as producer or story editor.

Also I'm brushing up an old animated series concept for a pitch to Disney.

As a result, I'll have to bring my laptop to Phoenix.

But work will take my mind off the race.

Then give me something to look forward to when it's over and the depression sets in.

Thoughts on Upcoming Second Marathon

That's that again. Last TNT practice today. We ran eight miles that felt short and easy. All has been said and done. There's nothing left but the race next Sunday. I'm excited, scared, impatient; giddy in a manly way.

Training serves as the ante. The marathon is the game. The rules are fluid. It could be nothing you imagined or exactly as planned. There are so many imponderables, not least being mental outlook. That's where I faltered last year. Yes, the humidity in Hawaii zapped me and I wobbled to a stop. But I wasn't prepared to deal with adversity. My training had gone smooth and injury free. Too smooth. Mr. Trouble had never come around.

Out there on the sun-washed asphalt of Honolulu, as runners streamed past, I stopped checking my watch. I shuffled along, no longer caring when I finished — until I finished. Then I knew I could've watered up, pushed myself and run a bit more. Quitting still eats at me like a chubby tape worm.

All I can do is run my best marathon, The results will take care of themselves.

Last Track Session Before Phoenix.

Last night was our final track practice. Very light workout. Jerry and I were the first to arrive. As we warmed up, Jerry gave me his marathon anti-cramp recommendations: bring plenty of salt tablets and vary the pace.

Then off to the Soup Plantation for soups and such. Teammate Jennifer, who ran Honolulu, showed up with a cake. I forget the occasion, but she baked it herself and it was pretty darn good.

I'm concentrating now on mental training. I visualize running smoothly with good form. Using more T'ai Chi and yoga breathing exercises helps keep me centered.

Oh, and trying to earn some money this year. That's also a good thing to focus on.